They say 70 is the new 60. They lie.
By the time you reach age 70, there’s some tough stuff coming down. The only way through the miasma is straight ahead. But it isn’t easy. Naps are easy.
Take today, for example. The bike ride is a challenge. We’ve been riding our bikes ever so gently through the interior roadways serving our condo project. Slowly, briefly.
Super-strength Tylenol notwithstanding, even my skeleton is sore. So is my butt.
Full disclosure: because of my multiple surgeries over the past three years, this born-again exercise effort marks the first serious attempt at a sustained come-back. We’ve flirted with a more healthy life-style in the past, but it was mostly foreplay. The docs didn't know my pacemaker was not firing on all cylinders. It is now.
These days, we’re talking higher heart rates and sweat.
So here we are…two aging heart patients and cancer survivors fumbling with those stupid goddamned helmets and then riding circles around our housing complex. Five loops make a mile. Yes, there are better bike trails but our coordination is not ready for a test of traffic. May never be again.
No matter. The endorphins are just as delightful as they were during highway miles. The sun and the wind still offer a warm caress. This is a wonderful day.
Forget my complaining. This ride does a body good.